


Come Back To Me

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Short One Shot, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: Watson slams the door a bit louder than usual.His steps are faster than usual.Holmes frowns.He doesn’t understand what’s going on with Watson. And with the others.He doesn’t have to leave the room. He has everything he needs here. Why won’t they understand that?





	

Sherlock Holmes is standing by the window, watching the bustle on the street below.  
It is early evening and people are rushing home. Bags under their arms, their hats sheltering them from the wind pulled low into their faces. Some people stop briefly to buy a newspaper from the young salesman, who eagerly exclaims out headlines. Whose face radiates with every earned coin.

Every now and then, all of them must step aside when a carriage approaches, and the horses crush the dirt on the road under their hooves. Their breath escapes before them in a steam cloud. It’s already that cold, although it is only autumn.

In the next moment, a particularly violent gust makes people bow down and hold their hats. A groan visibly goes through the crowd.

Holmes observes how a lady’s hat is blown from her head. It lands directly in a puddle and the woman slaps both hands to her mouth.

Holmes smiles, and turns away from the window with a soft sigh.  
He walks slowly to his chair.

He sits down and stretches himself comfortably. A yawn frees itself from his mouth.

Slowly, the light in the room dims.

The atmosphere is quiet. Peaceful.

The fire in the fireplace burns reliably. Donating its comforting warmth willingly. The flames paint dancing shadows on the walls.

Holmes closes his eyes and puts his fingertips to his chin.

He smiles, as after a few minutes he can hear the stairs creaking.  
Only one person makes these particular creaks.

Doctor John Watson.

As the steps approach, at a moderate pace, Holmes says softly, “You’ve taken your time, Watson.”

  
*

  
“Hello Sherlock,” says John, swallowing.

There is no answer. Of course, not.

The only answer he receives is the steady beeping of the heart monitor

“I brought another book with me today,” John says softly, and lets himself sink into the armchair in front of Sherlock’s bed. He has no idea when this armchair had replaced the usual uncomfortable chair. Somehow, it had appeared there. And John’s back was grateful for this. 

“We read the last one quickly, didn’t we?”

John rummages in his bag and reveals a shredded copy of “The Canterville Ghost”. He opens it.  
“I really hope you’ll like this one,” he says softly to Sherlock’s stiff face under the oxygen mask.

John clears his throat and begins to read.

*

“Well, did you solve the case?” Watson asks, sinking into his own chair.  
“No. But I’m working on it,” Holmes replies, without opening his eyes. “I’m very close. I can feel it.”

“Mmh. Good,” Watson mutters, then he’s quiet.

Holmes can hear him breathing. Louder than usual. And quicker.  
He frowns.  
"Something is angering you, Watson. Spit it out. Your thoughts distract me.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I can hear it in your breath.”

“Fine … When are you going to leave this apartment the next time?”

“Why should I.”

“Well, it’s been eight weeks since last time you put a foot out the door.”

Holmes opens his eyes. “I don’t believe that. I’m pretty sure it’s only six weeks.”

“No, eight,” Watson mutters and sighs.

Holmes shrugs.

They only sit there for a moment. Silence fills the air between them.  
Suddenly, Holmes groans and rubs his forehead with one hand.  
“Stop talking, Watson. Do you even get enough air between your rambling?”

“I … didn’t say anything!” Watson blinks at him, confused.  
  
Holmes frowns irritated and closes his eyes again.

  
*

  
“Sherlock … If you can hear me, you should know … well, they want, uhm, your family wants to shut off the life support if you don’t wake up within the next two weeks. That … I tried, but in the end I had to admit … Oh shit. Shit. So, I want to say, now would be a good time to wake up, okay? We are waiting for you here. Always, and … Oh God, Sherlock I need you. OK. This sounds terribly selfish. I mean, it was obvious … you decided to take this overdose on the plane. Yes. And God knows, if bloody Moriarty had not been, we wouldn’t have … we wouldn’t have found you. And I wouldn’t have brought you back. So, shit that’s so hard … If you want to go – if you must - then … I just want to say we could talk about it, ok? We could find a solution? Yes. That’s it … I’ll be back tomorrow. Good night.”

*

“How about a walk, Holmes?”

“No thanks.”

“A little fresh air would certainly do you good!”

“Stop it, Watson. You sound like my mother. ”

“ … Fine. I’m going to have a little fresh air alone then.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. Only … disappointed. ”

“Disappointed? Why?”

“Forget it. See you later.”

“See you later, Watson.”

Watson slams the door a bit louder than usual.  
His steps are faster than usual.

Holmes frowns.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on with Watson. And with the others.  
He doesn’t have to leave the room. He has everything he needs here. Why won’t they understand that?

  
*

  
“So … that’s it. Two days, Sherlock. Two days. I … I’m here to start saying goodbye. Actually. But … The truth is, I can’t. I cannot do this. I cannot give up, Sherlock. Something tells me that you want to come back but you can’t.”

John clenches his hands into fists. He looks down at Sherlock’s still face.

“Please,” he whispers, his eyes filling with tears. “Please, Sherlock. I know I’ve already asked you for a miracle in the past. You heard me then. Hear me now.”

And the next moment, without really realizing it, John bends down and gives Sherlock a soft kiss on the forehead.

“Come back, Sherlock,” he whispers, and a tear falls on Sherlock’s cheek.

“Come back to me.”

  
*

Holmes plays his violin while he’s looking out the window again.  
He looks for Watson. 

But Watson doesn’t come.

Holmes yawns. He suddenly feels very tired. Unbelievable tired.  
He lays the violin in it’s case and sits down in his armchair again.  
A little nap wouldn’t be bad.

And maybe, when he wakes up again, Watson will be there …

So Holmes closes his eyes and soon falls asleep. He doesn’t dream.  
But he can hear John Watson’s voice whispering something.  
Something like  
Good bye my love. 

_Sleep well._

**Author's Note:**

> Corrected by [bakerstreet-irregular](http://bakerstreet-irregular.tumblr.com/).  
> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://currently-in-my-mind-palace.tumblr.com/) for more! :)


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